Cliff Klingenhagen invites the speaker to dinner, and afterward he fills two glasses: one with wine, one with wormwood, a bitter drink. Without giving his guest a choice, Cliff drinks the wormwood himself and hands over the wine. When the speaker asks why, Cliff just grins and says it is his way. The speaker remains puzzled, but also impressed; he knows Cliff, yet wonders when he will ever be as happy as this odd, generous man seems to be.
The mood is wry and quietly mysterious. What could be merely a strange anecdote becomes a meditation on self-denial and contentment. Cliff takes the bitter part without complaint or show, and that silent ease is exactly what the speaker cannot grasp. There is admiration here, maybe a little envy, and an unresolved question about whether happiness comes from giving, accepting hardship, or simply being the kind of person who doesn’t need to explain himself.